


A Fine Line Between Hypocrisy and Lying

by MotelsandDiners



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hopeful Ending, Inner battles, Stubborness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 22:57:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9094486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotelsandDiners/pseuds/MotelsandDiners
Summary: He didn't believe in miracles, or anything good. He was always braced for the worst and never got his hopes up because he'd been let down one too many times. He knew better. At least, he used to.





	

He would never get used to it, he decided. It was so far outside of normal- even for him- it was like some sort of test. Sure, he had never believed. Hunting monsters from an early age, growing up the way he did…having faith was something that never made sense to him.

Even more so after Sam lost Jessica. And then their dad sold his soul to save him. Nothing good ever happened to them. It was always one thing after another, life constantly spitting in the face of the Winchesters in whatever way it could. If he ever had any faith it all died when he did.

Hell. The knowledge that it was real and he was stuck in it destroyed any chances he had of ever believing. After all, faith is believing without seeing. Knowledge without proof. Well, he had his proof. If Hell was real, so too was Heaven. And that meant God was out there, or up there, or wherever the heck he was- not caring. Not giving a single crap about anything that happened down here.

No, he didn’t believe. He knew better.

And then, he was clawing his way through six feet of dirt, sucking in his first breath of fresh air like a man suffocated. He didn’t believe in miracles, only disaster, so he waited for the moment it would fall around him and he’d wake up there again, knife in hand.

But he was here. Against all odds and reason. And…he liked to think it was God’s silent, smug way of saying ‘See, I do care’. To top the cake, he was raised from perdition by an angel. A freaking angel! All evidence, proof for those of faith. Things that would have religious people falling to their knees with praise and adoration. He stood resolutely, with a clenched jaw of rebellion and spite.

He didn’t believe. He knew better.

Still knew better. So, he didn’t treat him like a savior or a holy being because that would be admitting he had faith. And faith to a faithless God seemed like a toxic relationship, or a perpetual headache. He had this aching feeling that God watched him be saved and only let it happen to prove a point, not because he actually gave a shit about what happened to Dean Winchester.

It was hard to accept the presence of the angel. And not because he was a dick, or because he didn’t look like one- he didn’t, where the heck were his wings? - it was simply because he was so damn clueless. He was how old? He didn’t understand a damn thing about humans, he was thousands of years old- he was taking a guess- and the idiot did things like walk out into a busy intersection. Granted, he’d be fine if he got hit by a car, but that was beside the point.

He didn’t know how to use a cellphone, or understand that you couldn’t just ‘pop’ in the bathroom when someone was taking a shower. Didn’t understand the word subtle, like, at all.

He was a blank canvas. Well, not exactly. The only thing on the canvas was a giant question mark because the guy was constantly confused about everything from cartoons to spaghetti. Something about being able to taste molecules, whatever the Hell that meant.

But, he at least knew how to fight. And he could heal him and Sam with a tap of a finger. That was something they never had before, someone to watch the other’s back for them. To heal wounds, wounds they wouldn’t survive, or simple little scrapes because why not? And the only thing they had to do if they needed his help was pray. Aint that a kick in the ass? A faithless man praying to an Angel of the Lord. That was a joke for the books.

Speaking of jokes, the angel had no sense of humor. The funny bone? Yeah, he was missing that one, because he never laughed. Probably a by-product of his perpetual confusion.

He realized he sounded like a douche with the way he was thinking about him, and it wasn’t because he was ungrateful. He wasn’t. There honestly wasn’t anything he could do to repay Castiel back for what he did.

He was just wired to try and find flaws with people, find something wrong with them so he wouldn’t get attached. But ever since he crawled out of his own grave, things were getting heavy and serious and more life-threatening than ever and they were needing his help more and more.

He pulled through, time and time again. Little by little, Dean was starting to trust him, even rely on him which was something he didn’t do. Not with random people and certainly not with otherworldly creatures.

He didn’t believe. He knew better.

He used to. He didn’t anymore.

“So, it looks like we’ve got a lot of demon activity going on in Tueson,”

Dean grunted to let Sam know he was listening. He had only started listening, to be honest. He had been lost in his thoughts for the last ten miles or so.

“You think we should call in Castiel?”

The question had Dean’s spine stiffening instinctively, and he tried to brush off the iron-like straightness of his muscles, “Why don’t we figure out what we’re dealing with exactly. No need to bug the guy unnecessarily-“

“It’s no trouble, Dean, really.” Came a voice at his shoulder and he jerked the steering wheel in surprise.

“Goddamnit-“ he cursed, shooting daggers into the rear-view mirror at the stoic angel.

_‘Son of a bitch, motherfucking-'_

After taking a deep breath, and throwing a look at Sam who was wearing his ‘annoying little brother’ face, he growled. “What the Hell have I told you about popping into the car?”

“Not to do it.” Was the immediate, monotone reply. “But I was under the impression that you needed my help.”

“Oh, so you’re impressionable now?” Dean shot back and when Castiel went to open his mouth, confusion and offence on his face, Dean sighed. “Sarcasm. That was sarcasm.”

Castiel squinted, making it obvious he didn’t really understand how ‘sarcasm’ sounded or what it was exactly. “I…see.”

_‘No, you really don’t, pal.’_

“Anyway, Sammy’s the one with the case info. I didn’t hear a damn word of it.” He grumbled, ignoring the flat look Sam sent him.

He listened to Sam fill in Castiel on what he knew, occasionally flicking his eyes up to glance at the angel. He was surprised that he wasn’t looking forward to him leaving. Or the fact that he wasn’t miffed about the angel taking up space in his car.

He was relieved to see him there, behind them. Watching their backs like he had become accustomed to. He was…flattered that he responded so quick. They didn’t even pray to him, just mentioned his name and he was suddenly there. It made him feel like he meant something, like his life and his time was worth something.

He didn’t believe. He knew better.

_‘Don’t worry about it,’_

He used to. 

_' 'Cause I don’t really get it either.’_

He didn’t anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a friend of mine for Christmas. I'm a few days late, but hey, I wrote something. So, Merry Christmas, Steve!


End file.
